


There's just some things that never change

by nomadwidow



Series: Ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch? [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Drama & Romance, F/M, Foreplay, Inspired by a Camila Cabello Song, Inspired by a Shawn Mendes Song, Jealousy, Masturbation, Modern Royalty, Nipple Piercings, Out of Character, Porn, Porn With Plot, Post-Break Up, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Princes & Princesses, Romance, Royalty, Song Lyrics, Tattoos, Wanda Maximoff & Natasha Romanov Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomadwidow/pseuds/nomadwidow
Summary: Royalty AU. Natasha runs into her ex-boyfriend during the wedding celebrations of Prince Anthony of the United Kingdom and Virginia Potts. A prequel story to‘Cause every time I see you, I don’t wanna behave.





	There's just some things that never change

**Author's Note:**

> Winterwitch is a background relationship, in this story. I might write them later, give them a spin-off, within the ‘verse.  
>    
>  Kind of a song fic, based on “Señorita” by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello. 

The air was hot, summer was here—it was perfect for a Miami wedding. Natasha had flown in from Russia to attend the marriage of Prince Anthony of the United Kingdom to a commoner, Virginia Potts. Natasha just broke up with her boyfriend; she didn't have a date to the wedding.

 

Accompanied by her best friend, Wanda, Princess of Sokovia, they decide on a nightclub, for the evening. The barmaid offers them a complimentary VIP table, where they sit and order their drinks. “Текила Санрайз, пожалуйста,” Natasha tells the Russian waitress.

 

They're drinking, dancing, in a crowd of attractive men. Natasha is enjoying herself; that is, until the DJ announces, “We got Royals in the house! Prince Tony and his groomsmen are here, so let’s get this party started! Happy Royal Wedding Weekend!”

 

When she looks to the entrance, she witnesses Tony enter and walk—stumble—to his reserved table. She closes her eyes in defeat, knowing what is about to come. “Of all the clubs in Miami, Tony chose to have his bachelor party here?” She complains to Wanda.

 

Before Natasha knows it, a voice calls to her. “Nat!”

 

She smiles, genuinely, getting up to hug him. “Hello, James.”

 

A baronet named Sir James, or Bucky, pulls away from Natasha’s hug, and his eyes catch on Wanda. Bucky swallows; he has never seen a woman as beautiful. He tugs on the collar of his button-down shirt, sweat dripping off of him, and it wasn't due to the heat. He hadn't even known her name, yet.

 

Wanda looks at him, projecting the same thoughts. Natasha notices and she smiles, gesturing Wanda to stand. “Sir James, may I introduce to you, the Princess Wanda of Sokovia.” 

 

And Wanda and Bucky hit it off, immediately, instantly.

 

Then, Natasha sees her ex-boyfriend walking towards her, looking as fine as ever, if not, more so, eyeing her dress with a plunged opening at its chest. She sighs and smiles—a small smile, but a smile.

 

 

“Your Highness,” she curtsies for him.

 

Steve hugs her around her waist and kisses her cheek. “You look beautiful, Princess,” he practically whispers. She tucks her hair behind her ear and bites her lower lip, while he whispers.

 

Out of nowhere, however, a woman’s voice breaks their contact. “Steve! Baby!”

 

Baby? Excuse her?

 

A tall, skinny blonde walks over to them. Natasha’s jealousy is starting to show with his latest courtesan. He swallows, as the woman, a commoner named Lorraine, curls her hand around his bicep, looking Natasha up and down with obvious distaste. 

 

He introduces them to each other. “Lorraine, the Princess Natalia Alianovna of Russia.”

 

Instead of curtsying to Natasha, Lorraine just continues to look her up and down, assessing the threat. “Baby, let’s go,” she urges, tugging his arm. “I want to dance!”

 

Natasha watches as Lorraine tugs Steve away. She had never felt as jealous as this. And pissed the fuck off. Bitch didn’t even curtsy to her. 

 

They're several drinks in, by this point—drunk, but still coherent. She watches them dance, her grinding on him. It wasn’t until she saw Lorraine take a body shot off of him—that’s when she snapped.

 

Steve and Natasha argue, and she leaves.

 

His face distressed, Steve walks over to where Wanda and Bucky had been sitting and talking over the loud nightclub music, hands on thighs, laughing. Upon hearing what had happened, Wanda leaves to catch up with Natasha—her bodyguard, Alex Lipton, in tow.

 

“Steve, you’re an asshole,” Bucky says.

 

Steve sighs and rests his elbows on his lap. “I brought a date with me, Buck! I didn’t know Natasha would be here! What am I supposed to do? Ditch her? That isn’t fair.” 

 

Bucky frowns at Steve. “Making Nat jealous, isn’t fair, either.”

 

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Steve says, defending himself, gesturing his hands for emphasis. “Before I knew what was happening, it was too late. She was already licking my neck.”

 

“Steve,” Bucky says, disappointed.

 

Steve takes Bucky’s whiskey, and downs it in a gulp. He slams the glass down on the table. “You know what? I'm glad that she's jealous. It feels good to know that she wants me, still.”

 

Wanda returns, but without Natasha. 

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha ends up at a beach, the reflection of the moonlight in the ocean, sharp. The beach is isolated and quiet; the wind's blowing her dress between her legs, as she looks to the horizon. 

 

She feels a pair of familiar hands tug at her hips, sharply, pressing his familiar, hardening cock against her derrière. Her high heels fall from her hands, thudding against the sand, softly. 

 

“You still have Brock’s number, don’t you?” She asks of her bodyguard, Brock Rumlow, casually, still looking at the ocean, not needing to see who it was. Reeking of cigarettes and whiskey, Steve nods against her neck before placing an open-mouthed kiss, below her ear, his hand bunching up the fabric of the front of her dress. As his hand reaches her inner thigh, his thumb stimulating her entrance through her G-string’s soaked mesh, she lets out a soft gasp. 

 

“He’s fired,” she blurts—or tries to, anyway—his hands are distracting. He chuckles as he continues, his lips nipping at her collarbone. 

 

“Where’s your... шлюха ?” She manages to say, breathlessly.

 

“Baby, stop talking," he whispers, kissing her shoulders. “I only want to hear the noises that you’re about to make for me.”

 

His free hand delves into her décolletage—he’s pinching her nipple, squeezing the base, and she's arching her back into him. He moves her G-string to the side, slipping two fingers into her pussy. Soon, she's grinding into his hand, his fingers. He stills her, pressing his hand on her abdomen. She whimpers. “Stand still, baby. Don't squirm. Brock’s still here. You’re making it obvious.”

 

Her lips parted just a hair when the pace of his hand quickened. Her breathing became heavier, louder and more labored. Eventually, a moan escapes her mouth. “Don't moan too loud, Natasha,” he whispers into her ear.

 

Before another moan rolled over her lips, she claps a hand over her mouth, her own teeth biting into her palm, keeping herself from screaming in pleasure. He slides one more finger inside of her, his mouth branding her neck. Her cunt is wet and dripping.

 

“Come on my fingers, baby. Soak my hand,” he whispers as he quickens his pace once more, his cock stiff. She comes around his fingers, clutching at his forearm as she rides it out, panting his name. 

 

He brings her down from her orgasm, holding both sides of her face with one hand, his mouth claiming hers. “God, the way you say my name,” he murmurs against her mouth. 

 

He pulls his fingers out of her, covered in come, and he licks them off, swallowing her juices. She watches him swallow, hard, his throat working. Her breathing is heavy, her pussy beats without touch.

 

“You okay?” He asks, wiping her hair away from her forehead. She nods, catching her breath. 

 

A hand returning to press her abdomen, Steve turns to Rumlow, who had been standing feet away on orders. “I got her, Brock. You can retire for the evening,” he shouts to be heard over the waves crashing to the shore.

 

“You’re sure, Your Highness?” Rumlow yells back, with not one shred of distrust in his tone. He trusted Steve, with Natasha’s safety, with her heart, with...everything.

 

Steve just nods, and Rumlow bows. “Good night, Prince Steven, Princess Natalia.”

 

As soon as Rumlow left, Steve turns back to Natasha. He kisses her temple, pressing his mouth there, his eyes on the waves breaking at the mouth of the bay. “The ocean looks inviting.”

 

He notices her troubled mood; his hand slides down her arm and takes her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “What’s going on?” 

 

She looks up. A tear that she was holding back, unawarely, fights loose. She wipes her tear away. “We’re just friends, now. Or, at least, we’re supposed to be, trying to be.”

 

With both hands on either side of her face, his lips capture hers once more; she can taste herself on his lips. “Friends don’t know how each other tastes.”

 

“God, your kiss is deadly,” she murmurs. “I should be running from you. This, you...hurts too much.” 

 

His eyes show pain, now. “Why do you think I’m here, Natasha? You keep me coming.”

 

He strokes both sides of her face with his thumbs. “Just let me have this night to hold on to you. Tomorrow, we can forget...if that’s what you really want.” 

 

She thinks about it. Is it what she really wants? No. But she has to stay away from Steve. So, instead, she nods, and sighs, and smiles. 

 

Hiding his pain, he smirks and picks her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carries her and runs them into the ocean; she giggles and yelps. They frolic in the ocean, still clothed. Then, they collapse together, kissing, in the sand and covered in saltwater, the waves crashing into them. 

 

* * *

 

The tide had lowered. They’re naked, still wet from the ocean, their clothes discarded in a heap. She’s sprawled on the sand, his head is between her legs. His tongue trails up her inner thigh, kissing and nipping and sucking marks into her skin, until he reaches her folds, tasting her and catching her dripping in his mouth. He sucks on her clit, nipping at it, gently, with his teeth, causing her back to arch. 

 

She bites on her lower lip, muffling the urge to cry out in pleasure. “Steve, don’t stop,” she pleads as his hands spread her cunt open to slip his tongue inside of her. She bucks, grinds, on him, her clit hardening in response to his licks and nips. 

 

She can feel him smile against her pussy and he grabs her waist, flipping her over, with ease. She’s on her fours, as he eats her from behind, his hands spreading her ass, his thumb tantalizing the pinched entrance of her asshole. She can’t help but moan, this time. 

 

His tongue continues its work with renewed vigor, laving her clit, circling, his pace quickening. The pad of his thumb continues to press into her asshole, massaging it. 

 

He continues to swirl inside of her. “Hooked on your tongue, baby,” she pants in-between her moans.

 

He smirks again, his fingers taking over where his mouth left off. “Natasha, I need to taste you, okay? Come in my mouth, let me taste all of you.” She nods, her thighs start to shake as her orgasm nears. "Get your tongue back on me, then."

 

One more smirk, and he returns to sucking hard and lapping with his tongue. She grinds against his mouth and tongue until both are covered in her juices. She curses and moans his name.

 

She’s shaking; her knees buckle. Lightly, he spanks her ass and squeezes it. She turns to him to kiss him, making him fall on his back; her, straddling him. “God, when your lips undress me,” she moans into his mouth, tasting her juices on him.

 

She grinds her drenched pussy on top of his cock, using him to get herself off once more, and quick—he just smirks and watches her tilt her head back and moan in wanton pleasure, the friction taking her breath away. She arches her back as he lifts his hands to cup her tits and thumb her nipples, especially the pierced one, sitting up so that he can bite and tongue on the barbell. 

 

Once her orgasm had subsided, he lays her back down and, lubing his cock with her juices, slides inside of her with ease. She moans as he bottoms out in her, his entire length encased in her heat, fucking her deep and fast and hard. He watches her tits bounce with every thrust, arms at either side of her head, clenching the sand in her hands. 

 

He rubs her clit with his thumb. As expected, her back arches one more, placing the sole of her foot on his chest, upon his heart—his tattoo—pushing him, almost. He takes her foot in his hand, worshiping her entire ankle with open-mouthed kisses on her tattoo. All of this, while fucking her and rubbing her clit faster. They come together; he comes inside of her, the feeling of his come, similar to the ocean, cool and delicious inside of her overpowering heat.

 

Her body fitting right in his hands, he kisses her—as if it were for the last time; memorizing her taste, taking everything that she gave him, before pulling away from her. He sits on his feet, feet tucked under his ass, and knees spread. She can see the pain in his eyes. “I wish it wasn’t so damn hard to leave you.”

 

Her eyes are naughty. She returns on her fours, her ass sticking up in the air, takes his still-erect cock in her hand, licks him, squeezes. He moans and twitches, his hand in her hair, bunching the strands together in his grasp, pulling so that her head bends back, her neck curving, the arch of her throat, exposed. 

 

“It’s still moonlight out, Your Highness,” she smirks up at him. He smirks back before moaning at her deft handling of his erection, cupping her ass with one hand, squeezing.

 

And their bodies danced, flesh to flesh, for hours.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, at the wedding, was one of the hardest days of Natasha’s life, since his date stuck. (Wanda spent the entire ceremony and reception with Bucky, with Natasha’s blessing. She was happy for her best friend and for Bucky; with that, going stag was her only option.) It was sickening, the hours that she had to watch Lorraine flirt with Steve was something that nightmares were made of. To top it off, he looked so fucking good. Natasha wanted to sneak off to be with him. She had to stop herself, more times than she could count.

 

She returns to her hotel room and, upon unzipping her Alexander McQueen ball gown, she reaches down into her panties and begins on herself, rubbing, biting her lower lip, thinking about Steve and imagining his hand, instead. 

 

 

She stirs when she hears her door shut—she could've sworn that she closed it. The lock clicks; frantically and, quickly, she picks her dress up and slips it on. Before she could zip up, she turns her head to see Steve.

 

Aroused and looking at her with hunger, he’s pulling his gloves off, and doing so in a studied fashion, one finger at a time. He tosses the gloves on the bed, and stands behind her, leaving no space between them—the medals on his sash, cold against the exposed skin on her back. 

 

She wraps her hands behind the back of his head, tangling them in his hair. Still, from behind, he slides her dress off of her, and fingers her pussy.

 

And she gets off on his hand. And that’s the only way that she wants it.

 

She wishes that she could pretend that she didn’t need him or want him. But, there’s just some things that never change.

**Author's Note:**

> Текила Санрайз, пожалуйста /Tekila Sanrayz, pozhaluysta/; Tequila Sunrise, please  
>  шлюха /shlyukha/; slut 


End file.
